


seismic communication

by lontradiction



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Background Abusive Relationship, Collars, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Monsters, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Partially Statement Formatting, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Spiders, Spoilers to Episode 92, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lontradiction/pseuds/lontradiction
Summary: She said she wasn’t going to kill me. That I didn’t need to worry, she wouldn’t hurt a – ano –They can't have me anymore.Jon returns to the Archives to find Martin's changed while he was gone. Something happened with a spider monster, but neither Martin nor Elias will tell him what. But he's the Archivist. He'll learn, no matter what the outcome does to them all.





	1. What's Known and What's Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alias (anafabula)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/gifts).



> Hello friends! If you saw this fic right after CIEx fics were revealed, I deeply apologize. It looks like the draft I thought I finalized while I was fixing the formatting did not actually save. This has now been fixed. The first two chapters are unaffected, but the third and fourth have further content. Again, I apologize, and thank you for coming to read anyway!

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

-lready given my statement, Jon, there’s even a written copy in the latest files. I know you prefer to take all of our statements yourself, but –

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, there are still questions I need answered. The original recording isn’t included, and my being away when the event happened means that I don’t have all the information _Elias_ does, even without his powers. The statements need to be able to stand alone. I know this was traumatic for you –

**MARTIN**

It’s not _that,_ it’s just… Never mind. What _questions_ do you have that mean you’ve changed your view on Institute employee statements?

**ARCHIVIST**

I’ve seen too many people die because we filed their statement without investigation. Your last one meant we were prepared for the worms when Prentiss came. If there’s even a chance you’re still at risk, I need to know.

**MARTIN**

They’re _dead_ , Jon. Prentiss and that – that _thing_ are gone, and they’re not coming back.

**ARCHIVIST**

Are you willing to take that risk?

**MARTIN**

Yes. They can’t have me anymore.

[SILENCE]

**ARCHIVIST**

I see. While your optimism can be… admirable at times, this is not one of them. There may be more monsters like this out there, ready to threaten the others or even civilians. For their sake, Martin. I need this.

[PAUSE]

**MARTIN**

Fine.

**ARCHIVIST**

Thank you. Let me get – oh the bloody recorder’s already on. Of course.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding an encounter with a humanoid spider and her subsequent death. Statement recorded direct –

**MARTIN**

Jon, this is all already on file. I can just put it in the folder as a supplemental.

**ARCHIVIST**

Er, right. That does simplify things. Extended statement begins.

**MARTIN**

A few weeks ago, a man named Peter Molina came to us with a statement regarding his girlfriend’s unusual behavior after a visit to the ZSL London Zoo. I don’t remember the file number right now, and I’m – I won’t be checking any time soon. I don’t want to go through it ever again.

Anyway, something about that statement bothered me. The exhibit he talked about – In With The Spiders – I – I’ve been there. It’s nice. Everyone’s so friendly, and the spiders… w-well, it was enough for me to do the follow-up myself. Peter was very forthcoming with his own details, so it wasn’t that hard to check up on him.

When I tried to find his girlfriend, though, it was as if she didn’t exist. None of the friends mentioned in the statement were any help. Half of them said they didn’t know he had one, and the others just shrugged. Eventually, I just called him again and asked for more information. He dodged most of the questions as if he couldn’t hear them. It was strange; his voice sounded… hollow.

His sentences were different too. I’d read the statement, obviously, and he’d seemed like an amiable, out-going bloke. On the phone, though, he was cold and aloof, as if he’d never wanted to speak to us in the first place. Eventually, I managed to weasel out her name – Jessica Stacy. I thanked him and said my goodbyes, but he interrupted me, saying, “You shouldn’t have called. She doesn’t want me to speak to you, so I can’t tell you any more.”

I asked if she was listening to his calls. Maybe this was, y’know, mundane domestic emotional abuse.

[LAUGHS BITTERLY]

That’s sad, isn’t it? That I wanted it to be something like that?

Well, it wasn’t. All he said was, “I _can’t_ tell you any more.” It sounded like something was spasming in his jaw, like it wasn’t moving right. Like something was holding his mouth shut. Then he hung up.

I looked into Jessica Stacy as well as I could. It’s hard to get much from just a name. Still, I was able to talk to the exhibit staff. They told me she’d been coming in around the same time every day at around the same time, chatting idly with the spiders for a few hours. Not to any of the people. They were fine with that – you get plenty of types in any public facing-job, after all. The day before, though, they’d found her with her fingers coiled up in cobwebs. When they warned her not to interfere with the spiders’ webs, she looked at them as if they were the strange ones and told them the spiders were just trying to talk back.

I asked when she usually came in, so I could – I don’t know – ask what the spiders were saying? But they just looked sideways at each other and said she hadn’t been in that day. I got the feeling that they were covering something up, though. When I asked if she’d said anything the day before about not coming in, I could have sworn one of them was trying to open his mouth before he froze, staring at something over my head.

I turned around, but there wasn’t anything there. Then I felt something crawling down my neck and out onto my arm. A large spider – a Mexican Redknee, I think? – was hanging onto my sleeve, _hissing_ at the keepers. The one who was about to speak practically ran to the other side of the exhibit, and the other looked like she wanted to do the same. It was clear I wouldn’t be hearing anything else from them.

The spider, on the other hand, seemed quite eager to… talk, if that’s what you’d call it. It skittered down and waved for me to follow it. It lead me to a specific spot in the middle of the enclosure and motioned for me to look.

At first, I couldn’t see anything. When I leaned down to get the spider’s point of view, though, I realized it was pointing at a huge network of webs. Now, most spiders are pretty solitary, they build their own webs even if there’s a lot in the same place. Not these. These spiders moved from web to web, spinning ever more threads into a large, mismatched patchwork. They weren’t even all the same species. There were orb weavers, funnel weavers – I don’t think some of them usually _build_ webs. It was… entrancing, almost. I had a hard time keeping my mind on why I was there.

That ended when I realized what kind of web they were building. It wasn’t clear, at first, but if you looked at it from just the right angle, it spelled a name: Peter.

Well, I naturally shot up straight when I realized. He’d sounded so pressed on the phone – what if she was there with him now? I left as quickly as I could – or, well, as quickly as I could after saying thank you.

**ARCHIVIST**

You said thank you to the spider?

**MARTIN**

Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it had given me more information than any human had so far. Friendly, too. Well, to me. I guess.

[SILENCE]

A-anyway, I went straight to Peter’s flat. I was carrying my normal follow-up kit – torch, knife, corkscrew, general bits and bobs – so I thought I was ready.

I don’t think I could ever be ready for Jessica Stacy.

When I got to the building, I was glad to see that someone had propped the main door open. I don’t know if someone was moving or something, but it meant I could get in. Of course, the ease of entry makes me wonder if that was the real reason the whole time. But there’s no point in worrying about that, is there? For whatever reason, the door was open and I was in.

When I reached the right floor, the first thing I noticed was how warm it was. Not burning hot or sweaty heat, just comfortably warm. Like hiding under a blanket. I don’t know if that’s normal where you live, but it’s definitely not what I expected.

The second thing was that as I got closer to his flat, I started noticing more and more cobwebs. At first, that’s all they were. Then letters started appearing in the segments, woven in like some sort of knitted shawl.

I didn’t read any of them. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what they said.

His door was unlocked. I guess neither of them thought to lock it when she came in. Inside, there were webs strung wall-to-wall. I didn’t want to go in, but I couldn’t just leave it like that. I wanted to know. I – I had to.

I knew as soon as I saw him that it was too late for Peter Molina. He was bound to one of the kitchen chairs. Whether or not he was already dead… Well. He is now. So it doesn’t matter.

I didn’t see Jessica at first. I – I knew she was there. That was pretty obvious by that point. But I didn’t see her. Just the webs. I tried to take a step forward, look around for her, but I got caught and tangled up so badly I could barely move.

Did you know spider silk is one of the strongest materials in the world? Of course you know, sorry, stupid question. I’d never fully understood it until that moment, though. How much it can pull and stretch without snapping or loosening its grip. It wasn’t even sticky. I’d just buggered myself in. Like usual.

I felt the webs vibrating before I saw her come round the corner. Not like a shake or tug, but a… hum? Like singing without words. She was like that too. You always hear about inhuman movements and crooked joints with these things, but Jessica wasn’t _wrong_ , she was just… The only visual sign was that her steps didn’t match how far she moved. It felt like if I could _see,_ I’d see her moving as gracefully as an ice skater or a wildcat between trees, but I couldn’t _look_ at her right. I couldn’t _see_ her, but I could –

She was speaking to me, but the words wouldn’t match. Everything she said was half-spoken, and the rest –

If Daisy hadn’t come in when she did, I think I would have been lost. Instead, the sound of her gunshot stopped the words, stopped the _speaking_ , and it was silent. Daisy took me out of the building and set me down on the pavement. A few minutes later, the fire alarm sounded.

Elias says the block’s insurance covered the damage to his flat. I didn’t ask about the others.

I don’t remember leaving, really. I remember being there, then walking past some closed-up magic shop, then having laid myself down on the couch at mine. I don’t know how long I was there, but it was pretty clear I wasn’t going to get any sleep. So I came here. Elias was in late, so I gave him my statement and he – ah – he suggested I go back to sleeping on the cot for the night. So I did. I went back to working as usual and haven’t seen a spider since. End statement.

[PAUSE]

Well?

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, I’m assuming you don’t want me to actually count the things you left out this time. Adding a few sentences is hardly enough to cover those holes.

**MARTIN**

Well, don’t count them, then! Just ask me whatever bloody question you need to so I can get back to work.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’ve been trying to do less of that. Asking direct questions has tended to lead to grievous harm to my person, and I’ve been told it’s quite rude.

**MARTIN**

Just. Do it. Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

(Deep breath) All right, then. What really happened between the time Jessica Stacy arrived on scene and when Daisy broke in?

**MARTIN**

I’ve already told _both_ of you what happened. She talked to me.

**ARCHIVIST**

Do you really expect me to believe there was nothing worth mentioning in what she said? Based on security footage from the hall, you were in there for almost fifteen minutes before “Detective” Tonner entered. Even allowing for the time when she wasn’t present, there’s still plenty of time for conversation. You’ve given no indication that you had trouble understanding her communication, even if it was lexigraphically odd, but you also haven’t explained anything about what she said. It clearly troubles you, but I don’t understand _why_. Did she make any threats against others nearby or the staff of the Institute?

**MARTIN**

She didn’t give any signs of seeking out other targets.

**ARCHIVIST**

Did she say anything about future plans or allies? Something about her spider friends, perhaps?

**MARTIN**

She was working alone and there haven’t been any reports of unusual activity at the zoo since.

**ARCHIVIST**

Why weren’t you afraid for your life?

**MARTIN**

I – what?

**ARCHIVIST**

You’re avoiding my questions. Telling me things I need to know, yes, but not _answers_. There weren’t threats against anyone else, but there was a dead or soon-to-be-dead body in the room. Why weren’t you afraid you would die?

**MARTIN**

I… (Choked) She said she wasn’t going to kill me. That I didn’t need to worry, she wouldn’t hurt a – ano –

[DOOR OPENS]

**ELIAS**

There you are, Martin. I’ve been looking for you. Jon, have you been keeping him long?

**ARCHIVIST**

Elias. I was hoping to fill in some of the missing details in this statement. I do like our records to be _complete_ , after all.

**ELIAS**

Of course. You needn’t worry about this one, however. Martin made it clear to me that –

**MARTIN**

(Overlapping) Elias –

**ELIAS**

(Continued) – the details of the conversation were personal in nature and do not comprise a present or future threat. Miss Tonner has already dealt with the creature in question, and I can assure you that Jessica Stacy is quite dead. The danger has passed, Jon, and you have other things to focus on.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m aware of that. I actually had a question regarding Daisy’s presence at the scene as well.

**ELIAS**

It will have to wait. Martin, return to your duties. Jon, let Martin work in peace. You have rather enough backlog to work through, don’t you think?

**ARCHIVIST**

…Indeed.

**ELIAS**

That’s settled, then. Now, I have to get back to work myself. You’ll have that report ready by the end of the day, Martin?

**MARTIN**

Yes, sir.

**ELIAS**

Good. Deliver it to me once you’re done.

**MARTIN**

Yes, sir.

[DOOR CLOSES]

**MARTIN**

I have to go. You don’t need to be worried about spiders breathing down our necks. She’s gone. It’s over.

**ARCHIVIST**

I know, Martin, I just –

[DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]

[SIGH]

**ARCHIVIST**

End recording.

[CLICK]

-

Jon is unused to worrying for people. _About_ people, yes – he will freely admit to fits of paranoia and a healthy respect for the risks inherent in working in the Archives – but the uncertain, general worry for a person’s wellbeing does not often fall to him.

However, he is nonetheless certain that it is worry _for_ Martin that he finds himself saddled with. Martin hasn’t spoken to him outside of what is necessary for work since he returned. Where once his face had been open for Jon to read (if not necessarily to _understand_ ), it’s now closed off and free of anything but a darkness Jon can only imagine feels as painful as it looks. He’d never thought he would miss washing out empty or half-drunk mugs of tea, but his evenings feel oddly incomplete now that they’ve stopped appearing.

He’d considered the possibility he’d said something to offend Martin – it certainly wouldn’t be out of character. He can’t imagine what it would take to do so, though, considering that an accusation of murder had gone mostly without comment. Asking Basira had (after some interrogation that Jon thought frankly unwarranted) ruled out this possibility. “Unless the entire office has somehow offended _Martin Blackwood,_ ” she’d said, “I think you’re in the clear.”

It may have soothed his uncertain guilt, but it only makes him worry more for the man himself. Jon found himself taking any excuse to get out of his office for a moment. It was easy to tell the others (and himself) that he just needed a drink or a report and didn’t want to wait around for someone to come in, but he always gravitated to Martin and his work. He didn’t need to be subtle about watching; Martin’s started to look away whenever he enters the room, missing the stare and twitches in expression that Jon can’t seem to control. When Jon tried to assign Martin work, he explained that Elias had him working on a different project. Jon gave up after the third “project” and… _liberated_ one of the written reports from Elias’s desk.

The handwriting was familiar, but that was the only thing Jon recognized. Martin’s reports had always had a more conversational tone than he found appropriate, but this one was dry, almost clinical in its formality.

That was when Jon had asked Martin for the extended statement. If something about that incident had caused this, then wouldn’t it come out then?

Well, he was wrong. And now he’ll have that much more resistance to overcome.

Staring at the tape recorder in front of him, Jon spreads his fingers out on the blank pages he’d set aside for notes. What can he write about this? “Subject confirmed previous statement but provided no further details”?

Strictly speaking, that’s not true. However, the one fragment of a sentence he did manage to extract is just that – a fragment. If he wants to find the truth, he has a long way to go.


	2. Searching for Answers

_**ELIAS** _

**__**_I imagine you’re going to hear this at some point, Jon. I will be sealing this tape once we are finished, as may be requested by any statement-giver. However, the day will come when you either gain access to these files legitimately or obtain this tape through more…_ direct _methods. One way or the other, I hope you will respect the reasons we had to seal it. It was not recorded for your ears._

_Not yet._

-

Unfortunately, the extended statement seems to have put Martin on edge. Jon finds himself being actively avoided instead of ignored. It’s inconvenient, to say the least. He’d really rather make his observations in person.

Martin’s desk, though, still yields some clues. He doesn’t check the drawers – he’s learned that lesson, at least. Stacked in one corner on the surface are fliers for the zoo, papers on seismic communication in spiders, and statements about vampires and parapsychological studies – plainly from the follow-up for the old statement. The current work, though, appears to be on the history of the Institute, with a few additional volumes on folk protection from the evil eye and other ancient fetishes.

So it isn’t _just_ spiders. There’s something else, something about their own work.

Jon knows about the evil eye, of course. It’s among the most common supernatural fears reported to the Institute, though many of the resulting statements have since been discredited. Still, there’s many desks up in Research with nazars tucked into the corners. Ironic, he supposes, given the Institute’s apparent affiliations, but they don’t know that.

Still, it doesn’t seem related to the original fear. A nazar wouldn’t protect him from the spiders – Daisy’s approach is significantly more effective. So why? Elias knows all of this. The texts are from their own libraries. So it can’t be under his orders.

Unless that’s not the point.

“What are you doing?”

Jon turns to see Martin, holding another stack of books and staring down at him. Martin’s frame is tight, compressed in a way that makes his height paradoxically more noticeable. Jon has the feeling that if he could see more of the man, his knuckles wouldn’t be the only pale joint.

Jon keeps his voice steady, a skill he’s had more practice at than he would like. “I wanted to see what Elias finds so important that he needs to hold one of my assistants hostage.”

Martin flushes and looks away. “It’s not that important. It just - I just need to find…“ His free hand reaches up to hook a couple fingers under the knot of his tie. No – there’s more layers than that, aren’t there? It’s further –

“Is it too tight?” Jon asks, before realizing that he’s not entirely sure what he’s referring to. It’s still enough to drive the flush away from Martin’s cheeks, and he jerks his fingers away.

“N-no, it’s sized perfectly,” Martin babbles. “Even if I do this. That’s the strange…” He clamps his jaw shut, swallowing so thickly that Jon can see his Adam’s apple shift. After a moment, he seems to unlock his voice again. “I-I should go. There’s – I need to do something. Elsewhere. Now.” He turns on his heel, not even taking the time to put his books down.

“What?” Jon asks. “What do you need to do?”

Martin looks back at him, and there’s an expression on his face that Jon doesn’t think he’s seen on anyone before. “I need to keep my mouth shut,” he says, voice high and shaky. “So I don’t – So you don’t find – don’t ask – Please stop, I don’t want to –“

“But I don’t _understand,_ Martin,” Jon snaps. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. He’s supposed to _know_ things, this isn’t… “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me like this. I’m…” _Frustrated. Hurt. Worried._ “Not sure how we can continue to work together when you’re keeping secrets from me again.” Martin flinches. Jon regrets the force but pushes on. “Have you told Elias about this? Is he the only one who’s allowed to know?”

“Jon, that’s not fair –“ Martin says, but it’s not _answers_ , damn it.

“Stop it!” Jon hates how it comes out, hates that he’s doing this, hates that he doesn’t even know _why_. “Stop hiding from me!” He reaches out without thinking and grabs Martin’s collar, fingers slipping easily under the metal (metal?) he finds there.

Martin instantly relaxes around his hand, eyes falling closed and breath slipping free. The tiny amount of skin contact feels like one ink spilling into another, and Jon suddenly, absurdly knows that it would be even more intense if he pulled down until Martin’s forehead met his. That if he pulled further, Martin would slip down to kneeling without any resistance.

“Jon,” Martin says, and Jon’s mind empties of everything but the sound of his name and processing how it can sound like a statement in a single, empty word. “Stop.”

Jon obliges, letting go and stumbling back against Martin’s desk. Martin draws himself up to full height, breathing deeply. He shoves his books into Jon’s hands and leaves without another word.

Jon stands there with the books until the numbness in his legs finally causes them to give out. What… What happened? What had he done?


	3. The Eye Sees

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _She – she said she was expecting me. That she’d felt the stirrings in her webs, even from just the sound of my voice on his phone. At first, she’d thought it was just because I was a threat. She didn’t want to be seen, just to feed and spread her friend’s webs even further. But then, when I went to the zoo, her friends told her about me. That I might be… like her. Suitable. Then I came into the flat, and I could hear her, and she knew I was one of them. She said I didn’t need to worry, she wouldn’t kill another weaver. Another spider. I – I was family._

_I – I can’t – I can’t explain what it was like when we were speaking. The way she played the threads of her web, the way they hummed – I couldn’t think. It felt like – Like when my mum used to sing to me. Before she stopped. She sounded so kind. I could feel the web singing under my fingers. I knew that if I – if I listened, I could weave them too. That I could tie everything together. I could weave everyone together and they would_ listen _. I could tie them down, and they would be safe. They wouldn’t leave me. And if anyone tried to hurt us, I could trap them. They wouldn’t know I was there until it was too late. I would be in control. You wouldn’t – no one would underestimate me again. Not unless I wanted them to._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Something you’d enjoy, I take it?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _Y-yes. But not the way she wanted me to. I think._

_Anyway, I was starting to lose the desire to say no, or at least the ability to hold onto it, when Daisy shot her. The webs – they shook so much, it was like the sound of an air raid siren and the movement of an earthquake. She freed me, shot Jessica a few more times, set the apartment on fire – you know, don’t you? That was your web. Your part in this._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _An interesting theory._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _It doesn’t matter much now, I guess. I went in there, I got pulled out. I tried going home, but I couldn’t stop hearing her, couldn’t stop feeling vibrations that weren’t there, even when I turned off my phone. I figured they wouldn’t follow me here – we’re claimed, right? So I came here. And I figured I would be alone. I didn’t want to be, but I didn’t expect you to be here. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You wouldn’t miss this. So I’m here. That brings us up to now. So. End statement, I guess._

_[PAUSE]_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Your situation is unusual, though not unheard of. Sometimes more than one of the Powers hold some claim to the same person. I assume you’ve heard about Michael Crew by now, so you have an idea of what that looks like. Many who come to the Institute were previously tangled up in the Web – Jon included, actually, though that was merely a momentary brush with an agent of it._

_Its claim on_ you _, however, is stronger than most. Your fascination with spiders and desire to see others subjected to your will, suppressed as the latter is, make you very compatible with its earthly presence._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _I don’t want to subject others to my will. I-I just want them to listen. So they’ll do the right thing._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Don’t take it as an insult; there’s no shame in desiring control over those that surround you. It’s led you to develop many skills that help you in your work here, after all. It simply makes you more – what was the word you used? – suitable. Should you desire to shift your loyalties there, it may even outweigh your ties to the Institute._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _What does that mean? I wouldn’t get sick if I tried to leave?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _It’s difficult to say. It would grant you certain abilities that you could not develop here, at least, and give you insight into various schemes connected to it – the Web’s agents tend to communicate between each other more than most monsters, those of the Corruption and Stranger being excepted._

_I won’t deny that I would have an interest in such information. It pays to be informed about happenings in our area, even with Powers we rarely come into conflict with. I also would find some… enjoyment in watching you come into your own. It’s rare that one of ours can surprise me in the way that would._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _There’s a but there, right?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _As I said before, Jon has had previous experience with an agent of the Web. I’m given to understand it was rather traumatic for him. Even if he did not notice the changes consciously, they would be reminiscent enough of that experience that it would likely damage your working relationship, much less any of a more intimate kind._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _Can you not… talk about it like that?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _I’m merely trying to make myself clear. The more you ingratiated yourself to the Web, the less welcome you would feel here. Even when multiple claims exist, the Powers are not prone to sharing. Even if you personally thrived within that domain, your relationships here seem to be a concern you would wish to consider._

_**MARTIN** _

**__**_I – I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to be the person she tried to turn me into. It’s nauseating to even think that I could – that there’s even a_ chance _I could be that. I don’t want to feel that lost ever again._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _You’re sure of your decision? Now that you’ve been actively sighted, you may have agents courting you in the future. You might change your mind, willing or not._

_**MARTIN** _

**__**_No! I don’t want it, I don’t want_ them _, I never want to meet anything like her again. Why are you acting like this is a thing I should have_ any _desire for?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Your decision is your own, of course. I’m merely laying out the options._

_**MARTIN** _

**__**_I don’t_ want _options! I want to stay! I can’t – anything she would have wanted me to do, I can’t even think about anymore. Elias, don’t give me to them._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _I won’t. You will always have a place here, Martin. You’re valuable to us, even if Jon isn’t always the best at admitting it._

_[CHAIR SCRAPES]_

_You’re valuable to me._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _What are you doing?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Is it unwelcome?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _It’s a little weird?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _My apologies. I expected you would find physical contact reassuring._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _No, it is, it’s just – you don’t have to hold my hand over this. Am I that pathetic?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _No. You’re distressed, and understandably so. You were given an offer you find repugnant and have no idea if you will be approached with again, much less whether you’ll be able to resist a second time._

_[PAUSE]_

_There is a way that I can help protect you from that. However, it would be permanent and have side effects you may not want. Would you still do it?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _(Quickly) Yes. Please. Anything to keep them away from me._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Thank you for your decision. Come with me._

_[CLICK]_

-

Artefact Storage, as always, is a dismal place. He’s sure the practical researchers find some sparks of excitement in it, but Jon has never been one for repeating half-formed patterns every day. Besides, all the cleaning in the world couldn’t drive away the sense of centuries-old dust. If he knew what he was looking for, it could at least be an easy in-and-out. Given that all he has to go on is Martin’s research notes, however, it seems unlikely he’ll manage that.

Before, he would have asked Sasha. She knew the artefacts like only a practical could; she’d have been able to tell him whether something related existed and exactly where it would be. He’d always appreciated that.

Sasha is dead, though. Eaten and impersonated, and he hadn’t even been worried that she was withdrawing – well, beyond the extent to which he was paranoid about literally anything at the time. He can’t lean on her for this, but he can’t let that stop him, either. Allowing another assistant to fall prey to the monsters outside the Archives through idle thoughtlessness would be unacceptable.

He ignores the thought there are monsters inside the Archives as well.

Disappointingly, the Artefact Storage records are about as behind the times as the Gertrude-era Archives. The main staff are all with other appointments right now, so Jon has the card catalogue all to himself. Meaning he has the frustration of dealing with its damn sorting system, or rather the lack thereof, all to himself as well. With items are numbered through order of acquisition, he doesn’t even have dates or statement-based reference to start with.

Combing through each entry by hand, as might be expected, yields no useful results. Somehow, Jon doubts that a large tapestry of an eye is close enough to a nazar or amulet to qualify. There has to be _something_.

It’s on the third pass through that he notices it. Multiple cards are missing, even when he adds the checked-out items to the list. There’s no discernible pattern – he imagines he’d need the cards themselves to figure that out – but some numbers simply don’t appear.

Footsteps sound in the office and he startles, dropping the two cards he’d been holding. A practical researcher passes by, guiding out a visitor. Jon notes that they look like a student, though he’s not sure why he bothers. The researcher turns back, sighing until she catches sight of Jon. “Hello,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m not sure we’ve properly met. I’m Michelle Hall, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re the Archivist?”

Jon looks down at the hand for a moment before gathering up the cards to return them to their place. Michelle, to her credit, withdraws it and asks, “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

Breathing deeply, Jon tries to remind himself that she is no more responsible for the sorting system than he is for Gertrude’s.“One of my assistants has been looking into amulets and charms against the evil eye. I thought there might be something here, but the blasted catalogue hasn’t been any help. Where have the missing cards gone?”

“I’ve been hiding some of them in another file to protect them from collection updates,” she blurts out, then covers her mouth. “Oh no, you didn’t hear that from me. They’re supposed to be moved into deep storage, but I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind.” Biting her lip, she pulls open a desk drawer and pulls out a small card file box. “Here. The M-Files.”

Jon takes the file, flipping through. It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for.

_0035-A (S): Choker_

_Description: A turquoise, nazar-style medallion strung centred onto a braided chain. Taken as a whole, the chain measures 1 in. wide. Length indeterminate due to variation between measurements. Closes using a wide slide lock that will not remain fixed unless worn._

_Notes: Testing suspended following the death of Junior Researcher Wollstonecraft. **ITEM MISSING SINCE 10/07/1956.**_

“It’s missing?” Jon asked, glancing back up at Michelle.

“It’s not the only one,” she says, shaking her head. “The items in there are all either missing or not officially included in the collection. There’s some of them no one even remembers receiving. I try to keep an eye out for them, but I haven’t found any trace. Is that the one you needed?”

He grumbles wordlessly under his breath. “It seems so.” Too much to hope for more of a lead, he supposes.

“I see.” Her eyes cast down, she takes the box and returns it to its hiding place. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“It’s-“ He stops, reconsiders his words. “It’s fine. Thank you for preserving these records.”

She scoffs, but smiles. “It’s the very least I could do. Just… don’t mention it? The big boss gets prickly whenever they come up. I don’t think he likes Mr. Bouchard’s policy on them very much.”

Of course. Elias. “We’ll keep it between us.”

“Thanks.” She turns around, waving over her shoulder. “I have some tests to get to. We appreciate your visit.”

She leaves Jon holding the end of this new loose thread. Why an item like this? What does Elias stand to gain by keeping the files hidden?

It’s time to ask the man himself, he thinks.


	4. Sight Unseen

_**MARTIN** _

**__**_…Should I be concerned that you just keep something like…_ that _in your desk?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _It pays to be prepared for such things. Besides, I try to keep artefacts related to our master out of the main storage. The risk of damage or misuse during testing is unfortunately high, and this one in particular can have regrettable results when taken lightly._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _Er… How regrettable?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _I assure you, they would not apply to you. You made this choice knowingly, after all, and as I said, you’re valuable._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _Right._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _I know this must seem strange to you. Collars have very different implications today than they did when this was first created._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _So it is a collar. Not just some wide-braid chains and a nazar._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Odd that a symbol of our master was claimed as protection from it, don’t you think? It may give those bearing it some protection from other forces, but only as a marker of who they serve and nurture. Of course, that’s exactly what you need, isn’t it?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _So if I wear this… anyone who knows of us will recognize it?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Anyone who knows of us and likely some beside. They would sense our master’s Eye on you in much the same way as we sense the presence of another claim._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _And then no one will try to take me again._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _I don’t think a guarantee is ever appropriate in our circles, but we have an understanding with the Web. Even if someone did try to affect your mind like that again, this would help you remember who you chose to be._

_[PAUSE]_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _It doesn’t come off, does it? That’s what you meant by permanent._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _No. It cannot be removed until after your death and is difficult to undo even then._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _(Shaky breath) Do it._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Of course._

_[SCRAPE OF CHAIR ACROSS FLOOR, THEN RUSTLING AND A QUIET CLICK]_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _There. You are ours. How do you feel?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _I-I don’t… Grounded. Watched over. But…_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _But?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _I don’t know what – what I need. It feels like there’s still something… incomplete._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _That’s understandable, I think. You’ve been through a great deal tonight, and your mind has not had time to fully process either the trauma or the remedy. It will take time to adjust, but you will._

_Now, given the circumstances, I don’t believe it’s best for you to return to your home tonight. The Archives room is open to you for as long as you need it. You can gather everything you need from your apartment in the morning._

_[SOUNDS OF PACKING]_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _Where are you going?_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _It may be difficult to imagine, but I do still require sleep. Besides, I’m sure you’ll want some time to yourself so that you can consider tonight’s events privately. I don’t wish to interfere with that, so here is where I take my leave. Sleep well, Martin._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _No, wait!_

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Yes?_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _C-can you stay? I… I don’t want to be alone._

_**ELIAS** _

**__** _Of course. That does, however, raise the issue of space._

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _What – oh._

_[SILENCE]_

_**MARTIN** _

**__** _I – I’m going to turn this off._

_[CLICK]_

-

Jon’s not sure what he expected to find when he entered the office. A reprimand, maybe, or Elias assigning Martin yet another report. He does know, however, that he didn’t expect this.

Elias’s sitting at his desk isn’t unusual, of course. The empty space in front of him, though, is. There’s no work – all cleared away. Even more shocking is that Elias is instead occupying his hands with carding his fingers through Martin’s hair as _his_ assistant sits curled up on the man’s lap. Jon opens his mouth, but the words climb over each other and fall back down his throat. All he can do is See.

Unwillingly, he memorizes each detail of the scene in front of him. The way Martin shivers when Elias’s ministrations brush past the nape of his neck, the whimper when Elias’s long fingers catch and pull gently at the roots of his hair. Buttons lie open at Elias’s collarbone, granting Martin access to nuzzle his cheek into Elias’s skin. The size difference that should feel incongruous, should be awkward given Martin’s large frame, but only heightens the feeling that he _shouldn’t be here_ (and the one, deep inside him, that tells him he should be there with them).

Finally, the words build up enough to spill out. “What is this?” he asks, throat tightening as if to bury his voice again. Martin pushes himself out of the chair so quickly that the chair itself slides across the floor, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his clothes as he stands.

Elias, by contrast, simply smiles. “That’s a very open-ended question, Jon, with many possible answers. If you’re looking for a specific one, you would do best to ask for that instead.” Martin makes an indignant noise from beside him, and Elias casually reaches up to slip his fingers behind the now-visible eye and chain at Martin’s throat. There’s no force behind the gesture, no tug or push, but Martin falls to his knees nonetheless.

Jon growls when curses won’t come. “You just can’t tell me _anything_ , can you? It all has to be a bloody scavenger hunt with you.”

A tiny twist to Martin’s collar has him gasping. Elias sighs contentedly, though Jon isn’t sure whether it’s the compulsion or the control. “I would have thought your former research position would have taught you that the best results require starting in the right place. You won’t always get the chance to rephrase.”

Grinding his teeth in a way he’d thought he’d stopped after the first time he quit smoking, Jon says, “Fine. Why have you been monopolizing my assistant’s time? How often have you brought him up here for this?”

Unfortunately, Jon knows exactly what caused Elias’s shudder this time. When he speaks, Jon tries to ignore how deep and smooth his voice has become. “I have been keeping Martin busy at his request, and every time we have met for this purpose he has been the one to come to me. You’ll need to ask him,” he says as he pulls Martin back to his feet, “if you want to know why.”

Elias pulls away, and Martin’s breath releases in a huge gust of air. “Jon,” he says. “Please.”

Jon just stares at Martin. He looks like he’s on the edge of tears, but not from fear or sadness. Not anymore. He just looks tired.

Jon should stop. He should turn around and leave. He should let Martin have his secrets, for whatever reason he keeps them.

But he needs to _know_.

“Martin.” Martin stiffens, shaking his head desperately. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Martin says, the words spilling out like raindrops. “I’ve been terrified ever since she spoke to me, scared that you’ll look at me and you’ll know what I almost was and what I am, and I don’t want to be like her, I _don’t_ , but I’m so scared and I don’t know what to do, and it’s not getting better like it was supposed to, it just _hurts_ and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Jon hates this, hates asking again when it feels like his lungs are trying to strangle him silent. “What did she say that scared you like this?”

“She said I was like her, another spider weaving another web, and that she could teach me how to trap people and wrap them up nice and safe and still. I don’t want to make people do anything against their will, I don’t want to be a person who wants that, but it could have been so _easy_ to take the reins and you wouldn’t even have known. I just wanted you to be safe, I always have, because you deserve it, you deserve it so much more than I do. I want to be a person who can keep you safe, because you won’t let anyone help you and I know you don’t like my work but I want to be _useful_.” Martin is crying, now, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I want you to want me. I don’t care how.”

The last question. One last piece of broken trust. “Why Elias? When you wouldn’t let me?”

Martin looks down, trying to blink away as much as he can. “It’s better. When I can touch someone.” He raises his hand to the collar, rubbing the medallion between his thumb and fingers. “I-I don’t know if the others would work. Tim’s never around and hates us and I don’t think Melanie or Basira are ours the same way you are. But the whole point of wearing this is to anchor me here, with you, and I still feel like I’m drifting. So I come up to Elias.” Martin breathes, swallows. “Because I need to remember who I belong to.”

Jon… doesn’t know what to do with that. The need has released him. The secret is out. But he still doesn’t… No. He understands. He just doesn’t want to. “Martin…”

“He asked for this, Jon,” Elias speaks up. Standing up from his chair, he rests his hand at the back of Martin’s neck and runs his thumb over his jawline with something like fondness. “He invited our master in and offered himself up.”

Martin jerks in a way that could be leaning away or leaning in, and Jon’s shoulders draw together in time with the frown crossing his face. “He doesn’t belong to you,” he hisses, stepping around the desk to grab Elias’s wrist and try to pull him away.

Elias holds firm, though, without any indication of effort. “Of course not, Jon,” he says matter-of-factly. “He belongs to the Archives.”

Martin inhales sharply, and Jon has to let go of Elias just to process what’s going on. Elias takes advantage of the opening to take full grasp of the medallion with his other hand. “Tell the truth, Martin,” he says, staring straight into his eyes. “Not because Jon’s compelling you. Not because you’ve gone until you can’t bear it anymore. Just the truth. You need more, don’t you?”

Jon freezes, watching the two of them. At this distance, he should need to look back and forth, but he doesn’t. Even if he didn’t look at either of them, he could see it.

Martin swallows again, Adam’s apple pushing against Elias’s knuckles. Finally, miserably, he nods. Jon’s not sure when Martin started to blush, but even the tips of his ears are red. Jon swallows as well; his mouth gone dry from what he can only assume is sympathy.

Elias nods, releasing him. “Good man.” Martin whines enough to make it through a clear attempt at suppression. “Can you tell us what you need, or do you need Jon to ask you first?”

Martin looks at Jon, eyes pleading. Jon doesn’t even think until his voice is saying, “What do you need us to do, Martin?”

Martin collapses in on himself in relief as he says, “I really need you to touch me. Both of you. I need as much skin as you’ll give me. I need to feel connected to you, but I need you to be in control. I need to be able to give up all of mine and just let you do what you want with me.” He looks directly at Jon, and Jon’s not sure why his eyes seem so hungry but that’s all he can see. “And I’d really like to blow you. If you’ll let me.”

Jon’s head is empty, thoughts exploding out until they’re lightyears apart. “You’d like to what?” he asks dumbly.

Martin’s flush deepens, but he still holds his gaze steady. “I want to suck your prick.” The compulsion releases at the answer, leaving him shaking. “I-I know it’s weird, and escalating really fast, and you’re probably not even interested, but, um, I think about it a lot. More than I should. And I just – I want to feel marked by you inside as well as out. Even if no one else can see.”

 _Feed your god or it feeds on you_ , a voice whispers in Jon’s head. It does and doesn’t make sense. Martin is far from their master – Jon has a feeling he’s intended to be the opposite – but the Eye on his collar is calling him, turning his own thoughts to _mine, mine, mine_. The world narrows down to the two of them, squeezing in on Jon as if he’s being swallowed by something he never intended to be. Somehow, his brain signals his head to nod, the movement jerky without his intent to support it.

“Excellent,” comes Elias’s voice from somewhere outside his existence. “I thank you both for your honesty.” A hand lands on Jon’s shoulder, and it must be Elias’s but Jon can’t get the knowledge to stick. “Jon. It seems we’ll need a bit of privacy. Lock the door for us, won’t you?”

Jon finds himself at the door, flipping the deadbolt. He doesn’t remember moving to it, but he must have. He’s there now, anyway, and the door needs to be locked. Slowly, he turns, watching Elias slip Martin’s shirt from his shoulders. As soon as the barrier is gone, Martin slumps back against Elias’s uncovered chest (when had he finished unbuttoning?). At first, Jon can’t tell whose breathing has turned to gasps and aborted groans. Then he feels it in his chest, the lack and excess of air, and hears the answer from Martin’s mouth.

“Jon,” Elias quietly calls. Jon looks at him, with his chin resting on Martin’s shoulder and his mouth close enough to Martin’s ear that Jon can’t tell who the call is truly for. “Look at him. So good for us, so desperate and obedient.” Elias smiles without a hint of kindness, bringing his hand up across Martin’s chest. “He needs you. Are you going to make him wait?”

Jon doesn’t bother shaking his head as he crosses the room. He can’t feel his footsteps, even as he hears them – his body has stopped telling him anything. Once he’s in front of Martin, mere centimetres away, he awkwardly reaches for his shirt buttons, fingers fumbling too badly to force them undone.

“Let me,” Martin says, reaching up between Jon’s fingers to pull the buttons free. Despite unsteady hands, he makes quick work of the shirt. Jon barely feels the shirt come off as anything more than a temporary denial of his arms, oh-so-relieved when he can reach around Martin to press them closer together. His senses are filled with Martin; the warmth and smoothness of his skin, the scent of plain deodorant and _heat_ , the sound of his whimpers and taste of his lips when Jon presses a kiss at their corner. Elias laughs, muffled by Martin’s neck as he takes his time nipping and sucking at the join. Distantly, Jon is aware that it will bruise. Elias is leaving his mark, just as Martin asked Jon to. He thinks he should be jealous – if he’s honest with himself, he’s been that a lot lately – but when he looks down at the first of them beginning to form, he sees a mottled eye painted across Martin’s skin and it feels like his mark too.

“ _Jon_ ,” Martin whispers, and Jon isn’t sure if the reverence in it brings him back to reality or just pulls him further into the undream he’s been subjected to. Either way, it reminds him of the expanse of skin to explore before him. Closing his eyes, he lets his fingers do the seeing instead; each divot and scar slides into his mind as easily as if it was his own and becomes a story to learn. If they were alone, he might ask for them. As it is, he doesn’t want to share such a moment with anyone else – even Elias. He’ll save that for another time. For now, he simply searches for each one in his reach, every hint of data written into Martin’s body and woven into his moans.

He doesn’t know how long his investigation lasts before Elias’s hands appear below his, pulling Martin away. Warmth drains away far too quickly as Jon staggers, his legs no longer used to standing alone. “Much as it pleases me to see you taking such care of him,” Elias says, smirking, “I believe Martin was waiting for something else as well.” He turns until his lips are all but against Martin’s ears, eyes lidded. “Weren’t you, Martin?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Martin says, head tipping back as Elias spreads his fingers over his neck. Martin’s hips roll up, and Jon realizes Elias’s other hand has found its way down to cup Martin’s groin. How long…?

This isn’t right. This isn’t what he wanted. Is it? His mind still isn’t –

Elias seems to see the conflict on his face. He’s still smiling, but his face goes cold and steely. “You aren’t thinking about going back on your word, are you? You don’t need to hesitate. He asked for this.” He steps around Martin, shifting his hold to the collar, and cups the back of Jon’s neck. “He needs you to show him he’s ours.”

 _Ours. Mine. Mine._ It rings through his mind, over and over. He can – he can keep him. Martin chose them. Chose him. This isn’t about – sex. It’s a claim. An acceptance. _Mine._

Elias steers Jon until he’s sat against the desk – something Jon is thankful for, because he’s no longer sure he can trust his legs to hold him – and carefully hands over control of Martin’s collar. Jon can feel the power in it. There’s more in this tiny gesture than he’d ever expected to hold over someone.

It’s _exhilarating_.

He meets Martin’s eyes, and the fear from earlier is gone. Only hunger and something Jon isn’t sure he wants to recognize. “Down,” he says, gently pulling Martin forward. Martin follows easily, landing far more lightly than ever before. He holds the eye contact dutifully until Jon is ready to let go. As his fingers slip away, Martin finally allows himself to fix his eyes downward. His gaze is so intense that Jon can’t imagine he notices himself wetting his lips. And all that focused only on _him_.

Elias feels the need to interrupt again, slipping in next to them to whisper in Jon’s ear. “Look at him, Jon.” Jon’s not sure he could do anything else, but he listens, even as Martin starts to undo his trousers. “He wants you. He has for as long as he’s known you. And finally, here you are.” Jon holds back the noises threatening to spill out as Martin pulls his pants down and his breath hits Jon’s skin, but some escape around the edges. “He’s ready for this. For our master, and for you.” Martin presses his lips to his head, and Jon would toss his head back for relief but he can’t take his eyes away. He has to See.

Elias nods proudly as if he’d said it out loud. “Take him.”

Martin seems to take that as his cue instead of Jon’s, as he takes Jon into his mouth. Slowly making his way down, he makes no attempt to hold Jon’s hips back or wrap a hand around the base, instead taking each stutter of Jon’s hips in stride. His hands stroke against Jon’s thighs and up to his waist with feather-light touches that should tickle but create a completely different shudder instead.

“Fuck,” Jon swears, crashing into something he doesn’t know how to feel. There’s the physical, of course – thousands of nerve endings singing out with pleasure at their instinctual use – but that’s not what pins him to the glossy wood under his fingers. No, not at all. That comes from watching the almost worshipful look on Martin’s face as he runs his tongue along every square centimetre, the bliss it melts into when Jon reaches the back of his throat and still somehow slides further. He doesn’t know where Elias has gone and frankly doesn’t care; the man could tear his throat out and he wouldn’t notice until the blood spilled down to Martin’s face.

Martin would look beautiful with blood on his face. He elects not to examine that thought right now.

Pulling back just enough to free his mouth, Martin presses kisses everywhere he can reach, chanting Jon’s name under his breath. Watching suddenly doesn’t seem to be enough. Whether Elias’s hands guide him or he makes the choice unconsciously, Jon’s fingers curl into fists in Martin’s hair. Martin breaks, keening with need. “Need you–“ he pants, “–to use me. Just – take – anything. Yours. All yours.”

Jon almost tells him that he can’t, that he doesn’t know how, when Martin takes him to the root in one go and visions burst into his head, showing him how Martin wants him to thrust so hard and fast it takes his voice away, how hard he wants his hair tugged to put it on the edge of tearing out. Letting the last fragments of his sanity go, he follows the images down, moving without thought or drive beyond _feed_ – whether himself, Martin, or their master, he doesn’t know _._

It doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

As the frenzy climbs, his visions change. They stop focusing on acts, entrusting that to him, and begin to show him himself through Martin’s eyes. The first meeting – a spark of interest, irrational but strong. Growing admiration. Shyness. Protection. Craving. Choosing, over and over, to follow. The spider ( _mine, mine, mine, never yours, never_ ) and the fear. Finally, he feels illusory cool metal settle against his own neck, pulling around to the back and sliding closed and _locking,_ sealing itself closed and tying him down, and he reaches down to the collar and _pulls_. Martin sighs around him, throat opening up for Jon to spill down, planting his seed deep inside Martin so it can spread and mark every cell with _him._ Martin swallows every drop, even following him as he pulls out to make sure there’s nothing left. Jon collapses on top of him, kissing him deeply to make sure he reaches any untouched part of Martin and leaves his claim there as well.

“Mine,” he growls between kisses.

“Ours,” Elias corrects, idly reaching out to pet Jon’s hair.

“Ours,” Jon reluctantly concedes. “Ours.”

“Yours,” Martin gasps, “always, I’m yours. Only yours. Forever.”

_Forever._


End file.
